


Touch

by 99shadesofgay



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE GAY, Angst for days, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Dead Parents, F/F, Haphephobia, Mother Russia, Red Room, Steve Rogers is a Good Friend, Thor has the best fashion sense, actually she killed them, angst followed by fluff followed by smut, bucky is an avenger sorta and everything is fine, clint is HOH, culturally appropriate internalized homophobia, lbr if i'm writing this there's gonna be eventual smut, lesbian original female character, rated for possible future chapters, shield is still sorta a thing, smol gay assassins, smut followed by angst, sweet loveable dickhead Tony Stark, thanks russia, the best friend, wanda is a nice friend too, you can't have one without the other honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99shadesofgay/pseuds/99shadesofgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~"Barton, when Fury sent you to kill me, you made a different call. You gave me a second chance; a new life. Now it's my turn. Fury's probably going to kill me for this, but I think we should take her back to S.H.I.E.L.D."~</p><p>Years before Natasha Romanoff left the KGB, the directors of the Red Room -the program that trained Romanoff - were assimilated into Hydra, and had been working on a secret project: Black Widow 2.0, also known as 'Project Kotyonok.' Engineered to be stronger, faster, and deadlier than her predecessors, Nadya Zaretskiy has spent her entire life training, isolated from the rest of the world until the time came for her to fulfil her duties. But after surrendering herself to S.H.I.E.L.D. on the condition that they aid her in taking out everyone who knew about her existence, there's one thing Nadya knows for sure: the Academy may have taught her how to fight, but they sure as hell never taught her how to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> i decided to give clint his hearing aids because why not. Seriously, was it that difficult to have him be deaf in the MCU? ALSO this chapter feels really short but i've been working on it for almost two years so fight me.

Touch

  


**Chapter One - Disobedience**

\- **NEW AVENGERS FACILITY, NEW YORK, USA-**

_"Agents Barton and Romanoff to Director Fury's office! I repeat, Barton and Romanoff to Fury's Office!"_

     The voice on the intercom was quickly replaced by the insufferable sound of feedback, causing Clint Barton to wince, quickly adjusting the settings on his hearing aids. "Damn it, SHIELD," he muttered, "You'd think they'd have gotten that fixed by now."

     "Look on the bright side," his partner, Natasha Romanoff, smirked, "At least they fixed the Roost."

     Clint rolled his eyes, remembering the time that he'd accidentally broke the guardrails of the small observatory above the SHIELD tech lab (dubbed 'The Roost' by Tony Stark) and fallen, landing on Bruce Banner's current project. The result wasn't pretty. 

     "Guess we should see what Fury wants," Natasha sighed, gracefully leaping over the guardrails of the Roost, landing expertly on her feet in the lab below, startling a few of SHIELD's newest agents, who hadn't quite gotten used to Natasha's habit of (literally) dropping down into the lab without warning. Clint soon followed, taking the stairs (referred to as 'the long way' by Natasha) instead. He could never understand why she insisted on showing off all the time - he guessed it was her way of reminding SHIELD that she was just as good as (or maybe even better than) her fellow Avengers.

     Although Clint had spent many days and nights working on missions with Natasha, he knew close to nothing of her past. Sure, he knew the basics - she was a Russian spy, and a good one at that. He was sent to kill her, but refused. SHIELD saw her as a weapon of mass destruction; a liability. But Clint? He saw her as a human being: one that could be changed, one that could use her skills for good. However, besides that, she had never discussed her past with him.

     As they two made their way to Fury's office, Clint couldn't help but notice the uncertain look on his partner's face. It was clear that she knew the reason Fury had called them, but, for some reason, was holding back information- which was unusual. Usually, when Natasha obtained information that concerned any of her team members, she'd share it-regardless of whether this news was good or bad.

     But today was different. In most cases, Natasha made sure never to show weakness, except in the rare moments that she felt secure enough to let her guard down. Now, she abandoned her usual, confident stance for one that was slouched and sloth-like. Dark circles framed her normally bright green eyes, indicating a recent lack of sleep. Clint wondered how he hadn't noticed any of this before.

     "Hey, Nat? You okay?"

     Natasha quickly adjusted her posture, forcing her lips into a crooked smile. "I'm fine, Barton."

 _Fine_.

     Clint wasn't an idiot. He knew from experience that when a woman said _I'm fine_ , it really meant the opposite, and Natasha was no exception.

     "Are you sure?" he asked.

     "Nope. But i'm not going to waste time talking about it. You'll find out soon enough."

\-------------------------

- **NORIL'SK, RUSSIA-**

     It was nearing four-thirty in the morning when Nadya Zaretskiy received her daily wake up call-which, admittedly, was more or less a wake up _shock_ , as it came from the behavior 'enforcement' bracelet she wore on her wrist. Just as she did every day, Nadya systematically rose to her feet, quickly changing into the training outfit she had laid out for herself the night before at the same time that she slid her sketchbook into her 'delicates' drawer, the only place she could hide her secret hobby without the Directors finding it and burning each drawing piece by piece, forcing Nadya to watch. It was their way of eliminating her individuality; transforming her from human to killing machine. That was her one rule: no matter how much she wanted to feel anything-whether it be joy, pain, or anger- she had to repress it. If she were to show any shred of weakness...

     Nadya shuddered at the thought of what the Directors would do to her if she dared to show emotion. Pushing the thought out of her mind, she tied her blond hair back into a ponytail, slipping her feet into her training shoes as she grabbed her small case of throwing knives, put it in her jacket pocket and headed out to the training room. It was one of the few places she was allowed to go on her own terms- any room other than the training room, bedroom, or the washroom was off limits. The bracelet the Directors had attached to Nadya's wrist also acted as a pass key, allowing her access to some rooms, and denial to others. The bracelet was the Academy's way of showing Nadya that they owned her- if she so much as dented the bracelet, it would send a wave of electrical shocks through her body, incapacitating her. Not that she'd ever tried- she'd never had any reason to. The Directors provided her with everything she needed, from food, to education, to social interaction (even if that social interaction was limited to being dropped off at random parties in Moscow throughout her teenage years). It wasn't until she met her English language tutor that she began to secretly rebel. Nadya's English tutor, the aptly named John Smith, encouraged her to have hobbies of her own and to be creative. So, she drew.

     She started by drawing herself. She'd stand in front of the small mirror in her personal washroom, memorizing every single detail of her face before carefully sketching a replica in the sketchbook John Smith had provided for her, not stopping until either she deemed it perfect or she heard someone coming and had to hide the sketchbook in a matter of seconds, to be completely sure that the Directors didn't find it. Then, she started drawing others: John, The Directors, various security guards - even what vague memories she had of her family, who had perished as a result of Nadya's "graduation" assignment.

     The memories of what she'd done to her own family weren't painful - in fact, Nadya couldn't remember a life before the Academy. The earliest thing she could remember was being lined up at age five next to at least one hundred other girls her age, being measured physically and mentally from every possible angle, and then tested. In the end, there were twelve of them; twelve little Russian girls, trained to manipulate, infiltrate and kill without even a hint of remorse. The strongest of girls were pushed to the limit; the weakest were experimented on through chemicals and psychology until they surpassed their competition. Seven out of twelve attempted desertion and were immediately found and terminated; the other four perished as a result of failed missions. Nadya, who had been top-of-the-class since the beginning, was the only member of the Russian government's top-secret _Kotyonok_ program to both thrive and survive. Being the smallest of the girls, and also the most responsive to the program's genetic engineering experiments, allowed her to be exactly what the Academy needed her to be: innocent and young in appearance, but deadly. After all, no one suspected a pubescent child to be an assassin.

     As she approached the training room, a large man whose name Nadya couldn't place stopped her, grabbing her arm.

     "Director Kozlov requests your presence," the man grunted in Russian, "you will be coming with me."

     Kozlov was the head director of the Academy, and only ever spoke to Nadya to debrief her about new missions. It was rare that he would ask to see her at five in the morning, but Nadya didn't question it. The first rule of being in the killing business was never asking questions; she did what she was asked to do, no questions asked. 

     The man dragged Nadya with a harsh, calloused grip down the hallway - she couldn't understand why he would grab her like this, it's not like she was resisting. She resisted the urge to break the man's arm and decided to stay quiet- it wasn't that she wasn't _capable_ of taking the man down _,_ but that Kozlov wouldn't appreciate yet another mishap involving the maiming of his goons. Regardless, Nadya had trouble ignoring the brewing fury in the pit of her stomach. 

     She _hated_  being touched. 

     She wasn't sure if it was from years of being manhandled and pushed around by the Directors and their goons, or her combat instincts kicking in every time someone laid a hand on her, but she _despised_ human contact. However, when it came to her superiors, she couldn't put up a fight and risk being terminated, so she kept quiet, even when every bone in her body was begging to get away. 

     The man finally released her into a harshly-lit room, slamming the door behind them. Inside were Kozlov, three of his goons, and a very distressed-looking John Smith, tied to a chair. His face was bloodied, his mouth gagged with a cloth, and his chestnut hair slick with sweat. 

     "What is this?" She resisted the urge to run towards the man and untie him; she knew better. 

     "This man has been leaking secrets of our operation to the Americans,"  Kozlov snarled, "Were you aware of this?"

     "I was not, Director."

      Kozlov studied Nadya, searching for any sign that she was lying. When he concluded that she wasn't, he ripped the cloth out of John's mouth. 

     "Do you have anything to say for yourself, traitor?" Kozlov spoke in English now, his attention turned to John.

     "You people are monsters!" He spat in Kozlov's direction, narrowly missing him, a mixture of spit and blood hitting the floor beside Kozlov's feet.  "She's just a kid! You've broken her, all of you! She deserves better than this, better than being your _prisoner_!"

     Nadya was taken aback. She'd never thought of herself as a prisoner, and _definitely_  not broken.

     "She is perfect. Our greatest success," Kozlov argued. 

     "She's just the only one you haven't killed yet!" John switched his gaze to Nadya. "Nadya, you have to get out of here! They'll kill you, or worse, they'll turn you into a monster like the rest of them! You're better than them!"

      _Better than them?_  In terms of skills, this was likely true, but she had never felt the need to leave the Academy, and she'd never considered her superiors to be "monsters."

     "I do not understand. Why have you done this, John?"

     "I'm _trying_  to save your life, kid! Run!"

     "I am not a child, nor does my life need saving."

    "They're coming for you. All of you." John struggled against the rope restraining him, but to no avail. 

     "It is a shame you won't live to see it." Kozlov smirked, pulling a pistol from his hip holster and handing it to Nadya. "Terminate him."

     "You _monsters,_ " John spat, "How can you live with yourselves, how can you even _sleep at night..."_

"Quite comfortably. " 

     Nadya lifted the gun, aiming it directly in the center of John's forehead. 

     "Please, Nadya, you're better than this! I know you, you don't want to kill me. Don't kill me. Please. Nadya. Please."

     Although she wanted badly to deny it, he was right. She didn't want to kill him. Fourteen years of training in the Academy, and John Smith was the only person to ever treat her as anything other than a soldier and assassin.  She hadn't understood it before, but here, through her hesitation, she realized that this man was someone she cared for, whether it only be slightly. 

     "Get on with it," Kozlov snapped, speaking in Russian once more. 

     It wasn't like Nadya to hesitate, and everyone in the room knew it. She had to act fast. As John opened his mouth to speak once more, Nadya lowered the gun by a significant amount and fired all twelve rounds blindly, only about three of them hitting John, in the arm, stomach, and leg. 

     "Sloppy!" Kozlov barked, and Nadya dropped the gun immediately. John was sobbing at this point, his words incomprehensible and almost sounding thankful. 

     "I apologize, Director, I-"

     "Excuses! You have been trained better than this. You do not miss, not like this. Men, take her to Laboratory B for recalibration. I'll take this... _rat..._ away."

      _Don't struggle. This is fine. You'll be okay. Breathe._  

     As Kozlov's men approached her, Nadya's body tensed, preparing for combat instinctively. 

_Don't fight them. You will only make it worse for yourself._

She couldn't help it. There were too many of them approaching at once, and her instincts kicked in, her slender hands reaching for the throwing knives in her pocket. She was able to open the case in less than a second, grabbing one knife and throwing it expertly, the blade lodging itself in one goon's throat. 

_Damn it. There goes 'not fighting back.'_

As one goon lunged towards her, Nadya launched herself into the air, catapulting herself onto him and wrapping her legs around his neck while taking another knife and jabbing it into his eye socket. Of the perks that the Academy's genetic enhancement had given her, these abilities had to be her favorite. 

     " _Restrain her!_ " Kozlov commanded, calling more operatives into the room. He reached for something in his pocket- a syringe of some sort, a needle attached to its tip - and Nadya had already taken down four more men before they could restrain her, jabbing her with electrified batons until she fell to her knees, making no sound other than that of her steady breathing. Kozlov smirked as he removed the cap from the needle, flicking the tip. "Our little kitten is being disobedient. Don't worry, we'll fix that." 

    Nadya looked him in the eyes, resentment boiling deep inside of her.  This was the first time she had ever rebelled - the first time she'd ever been _restrained_  - and she realized in that moment that John's words had held some truth. She was a prisoner. 

      _A prisoner, or a weapon?_

Nadya wasn't sure she knew the difference anymore. There was no escape; no point in even trying. Human or not, the Academy was intent on making sure that she was as far from functioning as a human as possible. It was easier that way-without attachments or the capacity to develop them, she could be the perfect soldier. Distraction, in her line of work, could be lethal. Even her art had become a source of distraction; somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew that it was stupid and childish of her to keep up this hobby, but whatever shred of humanity she still had left kept her drawing. 

     Kozlov pressed the needle into Nadya's neck, slowly as to assure the most amount of pain before the sedative entered her bloodstream and, within 30 seconds, took effect, her body collapsing onto the cold cement. 


End file.
